


You Cooled My Mind That Burned with Longing

by simonsaysfunction



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Lexa Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonsaysfunction/pseuds/simonsaysfunction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were two ships passing, always, and it exhausted Clarke more than anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Cooled My Mind That Burned with Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by caelzorah.

It had been an incredibly long day for Clarke. 

 

She had been up before sunrise - up even before Lexa had been, giving a rare, if incredibly brief, glance at her in peaceful repose like Atlas letting the earth hang suspended in her dreams. Lexa’s forehead was smooth, free of the weight of her daylight thoughts, and Clarke placed a soft kiss at the space where the heda’s symbol would be settled upon waking. She crept from their bed, donned her clothes and all the marks of her station and left to pave roads for their fragile serenity to breach into dawn like the first flowers of spring.

 

_ Clarke Griffin _ stayed locked behind the heda’s closed doors and  _ Wanheda _ ,  _ Ambassador to the Sky _ emerged in the torchlight of early dawn, all rigour and stone and duty. Bulletproof.   
  
It had become ritual long before she had even seen the silhouette of Polis - right from the second she had touched the earth for the first time - and had grown from into a sick sort of necessity: to be the leader, to be unbreakable. It was only with Lexa that she could set the facade aside to revel in their vulnerabilities, be just two girls instead of symbols, martyrs, figureheads.

 

The elevator ride down from the top floor gave her just enough time to secure every last piece in place, to smooth the edges down until it was impossible to tell it was a mask at all. She had early meetings with Kane and her mother - the two Chancellors trading the pin since Pike’s downfall.    
  
They had talked at length about the plans for more integration into the coalition, becoming a true thirteenth clan and not an isolated island. For one, they couldn’t hope to survive without trade and tools and food to tide them over until fertile land could be found and sown with seeds for an eventual harvest. For two, there was the daunting task of repairing the colossal damage that had been done to Arkadia’s standing with the other clans. Any trust that they had fostered had been floated and it was a steep, treacherous road to travel before their word could be relied upon again.   
  
Octavia was trying to be more civil these days, something Clarke was grateful for despite the vitriol still spewed her way over Mount Weather. Clarke would bear it happily if it meant smoother passage for everything else.    
  
A decent step, at least, had been Nyko’s recovery and Lincoln’s release. With this, the sick grounders had been moved to Polis for further treatment - something no one had argued.   
  
The meeting had barely had a break for lunch, something Abby had naturally been the one to insist upon. Her mysteriously acquired knowledge of Clarke’s recent eating habits had her staring pointedly at her daughter as they all ate, prompting her to start picking at her food. Kane gave her a secret smile around his fork, joking commiseration at their lot in life: being supervised by Abby Griffin like unruly children. It brought a little levity into it, had the two of them laughing while Abby just looked at them with exasperated fondness. It was familiar - the kind of familiarity that used to drive an ache between Clarke’s ribs but now just let her laughter be warm and genuine, her smile sincere as she looked at her mother.

 

She was healing. They were healing. All at different paces, in different stages and directions. But there was no one way to deal with tragedy and grief, only the universal truth that the dead were gone and the living were here. The living needed them more than the ones they’d had to leave behind to memories.   
  
By the time the meeting had finished it was well into dusk, the last streaks of orange across the sky melting into indigo while the first pale twinkles of stars began to appear. Kane stretched as he stood up, gathering the sheaves of scrawled notes in all three of their hands into a leather satchel. He smiled again, warmly, and that was enough to keep Clarke from jumping out of her skin when he gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze and murmured good night.    
  
It was strange sometimes to be among her own people (if that was truly what they were now, when her Trigedasleng was growing by leaps and bounds, when she felt more comfort within Polis than she ever did in the Ark) who were free with assumed familiarity. Where the Sky was open and inviting, the Ground was aloof and remote. Survival wasn’t about making friends. Or at least it never was before; this was the first steps towards changing that.   
  
Abby, for her part, merely pecked Clarke on the forehead and looked her over in a way that was both medical and motherly, keen eyes looking for any other signs that Clarke wasn’t taking as much care of herself as she should be.    
  
“Remember while you’re out saving the world to save yourself, too.”   
  
And then she was gone and Clarke was staring into the space she had just occupied like she’d been sucker punched. The gravity of her mother’s assessment had her reeling, mentally scrambling for purchase. Was it that obvious she had been plagued with nightmares, had only eaten when the shaking of her hands became too much to hold a pencil? Or maybe Abby just knew her well enough that she didn’t need a sign hovering above her head to tell her so.   
  
Her plan had been to immediately start on the plans they had drawn up together, but instead of heading back to the elevator, Clarke slipped out into the markets, getting lost in the bustle of shops closing for the night. Lexa wouldn’t be done for some time yet if the hour she’d returned the last few nights were any indication. Clarke was usually already asleep by the time Lexa crept into their bed, or well on her way, and was gone by the time she woke in the morning.   
  
They were two ships passing, always, and it exhausted Clarke more than anything else. At least before they had been able to talk or even just sit quietly together, but with Arkadia finding its balance after Pike and Lexa wrangling the ambassadors who still called for blood in the wake of his actions, there was simply no time.   
  
So Clarke had taken to wandering, trying to map out Polis for herself - for curiosity’s sake more than any lingering need to have an exit strategy on hand. The Grounders, for the most part, treated her with the same muted respect they had before. She appreciated that more than the stares she would get in Arkadia, the cold suspicion. Pike had, after all, not conjured hatred and fear out of nowhere, merely stoked it into the uncontrollable inferno that had nearly started another war.   
  
She stayed there - immersing herself in the anonymity, the controlled chaos of human nature; watching the interactions of the people and thinking over and over of how little true difference there was, how at the core of it nothing mattered beyond that they were all people and survivors, regardless of the way they went about it.   
  
When she finally came back to herself Clarke realized it was well into evening; the torches had been lit and the stars were a brilliant blanket overhead. The crowds had thinned considerably and she made her way back to the tower with relative ease.   
  
She smiled briefly at the guards as they let her into her room - Lexa’s room,  _ their _ room. Wearily, she dipped to unlace her boots and paused when she noticed a pair of bare feet entering her vision.   
  
“You’re here early,” Clarke remarked and straightened once the boots had been removed. 

  
Instead of replying Lexa simply moved into her space and slipped warm arms around her neck. Clarke exhaled, letting the stress and responsibility drop from her shoulders to replace them with the feeling of Lexa in her arms, foreheads touching while they breathed.   
  
They stood in silence, eyes closed while Lexa’s fingers soothed the tangles from Clarke’s hair and Clarke traced the tattoos across Lexa’s back through her shirt. They stood like that until Clarke felt like Clarke again, the knowledge that Lexa needed this comfort as much as she did warming her heart.   


**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at theminipickle.tumblr.com!


End file.
